


Nothing Personal

by fleurescent



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Spoilers, au where SS is the synth, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5405318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurescent/pseuds/fleurescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Big meanie Paladin Danse makes pretty synth girls cry. <br/>(AU where SS is a synth and Danse does what he has to do. Spoilers kind of for Blind Betrayal.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Personal

**Author's Note:**

> An exploration of Paladin Danse. I think he would have shot you if the roles were reversed in Blind Betrayal. He spent a lot of time practically being brainwashed by the BOS, and would have killed the SS if they were a synth and not him.

The Old God made humans at the end of the sixth day. The New Gods, the ones born post nuclear rapture, were inbred versions of deities past like candles of greed, hope, despair, and faith all melted together in a sticky, wax mess. Organized religion was no longer so organized, but key values avoided the bombs and seeped through the cracks of change. 

The God of War had his parents taken away in the waste. Playgrounds were adorned with metal shards, pointy sticks, and lots and lots of bruises. Where he lived, kids switched their sticks and stones for guns and homemade explosives (that were probably verging on pathetic and verging on accidentally blowing someone up). But then the Brotherhood of Steel showed up in their metal flying chariots, calling out for heroes to fight and he found his solace.

Years later, they’re all he’s got. Paladin Danse really only had his rank to his name, along with more advanced, civilized weapons and explosives. There’s no way he could have counted on his hands the lives he’s taken for the Brotherhood, but it was all within good cause, to save the Commonwealth from decaying from the inside out. Like cavities, caused by things to sweet to be true, there were a lot of problems that needed to be seen to.

Danse followed the code like scripture. Kill Synths. Kill Mutants. Kill all vile scum that are not like you. Humans are born, and not made, with hearts that drip with sorrow, joy, and all the other flavors. That is what makes them suit to cradle the Commonwealth and nurse it to the shining, idyllic, pre war fable. 

He met her on the sixth day of the week. She was like some unearthly present that released a lot of hell on the encircling ghouls. She was a fortress of her own and was able to block any damned monster and blast them to the ground.

Next to him ( a “giant walking trash can” as she would later describe) she was fairly small despite her sturdy and healthy frame. She managed to speak with impact, carrying every word carefully as if she were painting them on her magnum opus, marking herself as some relic of importance amongst the fallout. 

He’d soon come to trust her with his life. Hell, he’d even die for her like any of his other comrades. But whatever contacts of loyalty he had with her were burned when the proverbial bomb was dropped, a moment he considered to be on par with any actual warheads dropping. 

The New Gods had found themselves at Listening Post Bravo. Laser rifle in Danse’s hand, pressed against the the tousled locks of another. The Goddess of Hunt, who so actively sought to find her son, found herself the one hunted. Nora had her knees on the concrete, hands up in vulnerable fear as if flashing two quivering palms would be a surefire way to gain peace.

“Danse,” she said apprehensively. “There’s got to be a way. Please.”

Danse glowered at the girl in front of her, “Paladin, you’re a disgrace. We can’t have synths in the Brotherhood, you knew that.”

Nora swallowed the guilt like turpentine, “I - I swear I didn’t know!”

There was something odd about seeing Nora on the ground at his mercy like some sniveling child. Something that made him feel almost guilty he had to look at the pitiful scene. Tears drove tracks through the ash and dirt on her face.

Nora had come so far to look for Shaun, but the story would end there in some lowly basement. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. A synth was a synth. A synth is an enemy. 

“Danse.”

Even Nora would have to go.

“Sorry Nora,” he said.

She began shouting. “After everything! After all the shit we went through together! I thought you cared about me! I thought you --”

Danse made his way through her cries, trudging through the muck of her words even when she continued to yell. “Sorry Paladin, nothing personal. You must be the example, not the exception.”

Nora shut up and looked to him with red rimmed eyes. “Ad Victoriam,” she hissed, “and go fuck yourself.”

He winced at the words and pulled the trigger.

The God of War knew it was okay to kill someone he was close to. It was alright. The Brotherhood said so. It was okay to have blood on one’s hands if it was justifiable. He’d get a pat on the back, be called a hero, because it was the right thing to do. 

Danse stepped back to admire his victory and was plagued by the horror he saw. It took a minute to register that all that grey matter belonged to Nora, all the blood too. She didn’t look good in red. She didn’t look good with a hole in her head and a face all crumpled to the ground.

When Cutler succumbed to FEV, he’d shot him. When news came about that Nora was synth and Maxon gave the orders, he’d ended up shooting her too.

Danse yanked open a tool box and found an old rag in the compartment. That would do. He hesitated as he stood over Nora’s body. This is the enemy, he thought, but decided she still deserved the respect of having her mutilated head covered. He placed the rag over her head so that her dead body would retain some of its dignity.

When he came out of the station, Maxon was a few feet from a vertibird nearby waiting for Danse.

“Goodwork, Paladin,” said Maxon.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Danse beamed, but he felt his ghosts crawling on his spine. 

They whispered to him and called him a liar. 

Danse had used the words “honor” , “loyalty”, and “service” in a lifetime of working for the Brotherhood of Steel. They were the backbone of any mission. He never had any inclination to question them. Now, he wondered if those words were a part of some sick punchline.

Tonight Danse would sleep under a blanket of righteousness provided by a slightly safer Commonwealth. 

After all, the God of War was bound to have blood on his hands. He was practically born with it. 

When the Old God made man, he did not expect them to ruin each other. He did not expect them to assume holy positions that gave them the right to kill and destroy. But hey, the New Gods are young and reckless. They walk among the Commonwealth. And they’re gonna carry that weight. 

Good thing power armor is pretty sturdy.


End file.
